


How Do You See Me?

by Dork5ever612



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Blind Character, Blind Raoul, Boys In Love, Erik Has Feelings, Erik doesn't kill he falls in love, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Sweetheart, Everyone Is Gay, Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, No Sex, No Smut, No murder, Philippe is hilarious, Protective Erik, TINY - Freeform, Tags Are Hard, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wingman philippe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 15:24:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12484756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dork5ever612/pseuds/Dork5ever612
Summary: It was both the best and the worst day of his life, when he met… him. At the time Erik had rolled his eyes and snarled at the vicomte, absolutely despising him. Now, however, he smiles and shakes his head a bit, amused at how stupid he had been. Turning to look at Raoul, he couldn’t imagine having hated him. Raoul turns to face him when he feels his gaze, giving him a soft smile. It all started when he’d first seen the vicomte, really. The patron’s chestnut blond hair and foggy blue eyes drew his attention… and now— well, they’re what he calls home.Blind Raoul fic inspired by Lucifer-Rosemont's Look My Way. Tooth rotting fluff.





	1. A Fateful Encounter

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Look My Way](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/331976) by Lucifer-Rosemont. 



Erik stared at the Vicomte de Chagny with disdain. Not only was this man invading _his_ opera house during rehearsal, but his Christine was staring at him with hearts practically in her eyes— he was everything that the Phantom could never be. Rich, handsome, loved by everyone… it disgusted him. Not to mention how sickeningly sweet the man was being, especially to those two new managers he already didn’t trust. Hatred and jealousy settled in his chest, and he was fuming just from watching his angel swoon over him. Not to mention the fact that Carlotta’s screeching was only making it worse by giving him a headache.

Giving in to his desire to destroy something before the Vicomte left, he decided to take his rage out on the Prima Donna, ultimately deciding to drop the backdrop on her since she was in the perfect position for it, and Buquet had left his post unattended. Erik smiled as her screams filled the air and the three newcomers flinched in shock. Ah. Much better. That will keep the managers busy and give him a better chance to observe the new patron. He tuned out the hideous banshee’s hissy fit, moving into a spot where he wouldn’t be seen when the stagehand inevitably returned to his post and claimed innocence, but where he could clearly see the Vicomte as he stood, awkwardly watching the managers try to placate the diva. Erik watched as Madame Giry spoke to the man quietly, and he leaned in to hear her better. He could guess she was talking about him by her posture: defensive, her eyes scanning their surroundings cautiously. She was warning him about the Phantom.

The man watched her with furrowed eyebrows and Erik could tell he was hesitant to believe her, or at the very least slightly concerned by whatever she was saying. Erik sat near the edge of his perch, hiding in the shadows above them but trying to get as close as possible.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Monsieur. He does not take kindly to strangers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Madame.”

Good God, even his voice was perfect! The knot invading his stomach only tightened upon hearing the man speak. No wonder Christine was entranced, the Vicomte had everything Erik didn’t and more. He snarled, standing and stomping his way out of the room with a strained shout of frustration. He heard startled shouts as he furiously stalked back to his parlor, but he didn’t care about being discrete at the moment. He was _livid_. Now, how could he keep those two apart?

* * *

Erik decided the best way to confront the man at first would be a letter, but upon dropping the letter in his path, the damn bastard had the gall to _ignore_ it. It was obvious that he noticed the note, as he turned to look almost right at it with a confused expression, but he simply shrugged and kept walking! At this he could hardly contain his anger, growling at the Vicomte through his teeth and turning to make his way to the man while he was still alone and confront him. _No one_ could ignore the Phantom and live to tell the tale.

By the time he made his way into the hall, however, he found that a group of less than desirable stagehands had gotten the same idea, jeering and laughing at the man as they kicked and prodded at him, as if he were some toy. He stalked his way behind the group. That man was his and his alone, and those bastards would live to regret the day they got in the Phantom’s way. Once he’d gotten close enough for them to hear him through the chaos, Erik cleared his throat loudly before speaking.

“I would suggest you leave our new patron _alone_ , unless you would like to face a gruesome and _painful_ fate.”

Upon hearing his voice, the three men froze to turn and look at him, screaming in fear and running upon simply seeing his mask. Typical. Erik turned to assess the man he would be fighting up close. He noted the odd pale blue of his eyes, his long and now messy amber hair— just slightly longer than shoulder length and tied in a small, crescent-shaped ponytail— his young face, and his muscular form. He looked quite capable of defending himself, even with the bruise now forming on his cheek. Surely he could have taken those men in a fight quite easily, seemingly being younger and stronger than a good amount of the staff, so why didn’t he?

“Thank you, but I didn’t need the help. I may not seem like it, but I can hold my own in a fight.” The man was glaring up at him, but his eyes were trained slightly too far to the left, and he was feeling the ground for something.

Erik twisted his face in confusion. May not seem like it? He looked like he could take Erik himself in a fight if he truly wanted to. Why didn’t the man meet his eyes? Fear? Disrespect? He fixed a glare on the man. Did he really think he could get away with such rude behavior, in _his_ opera house?

“Why don’t you meet my eyes, Vicomte?” The patron’s face contorted, as he stared into the space between them.

“Because I can’t see them. Haven’t you heard of my condition? I thought they told everyone.”

Erik’s eyes widened in surprise. Of course, how could he miss it! The new patron was blind, no wonder he hadn’t seen his letter.

“Oh, I apologize, I… I was out due to sickness on the day they announced it.”

“It’s quite alright monsieur. Now, may I please hear the name of my savior?”

The Phantom’s face flushed as the Vicomte fixed him with a cheeky grin and he was suddenly _very_ glad the man couldn’t see him as he awkwardly shuffled and turned to grab the cane that had been tossed to the ground by his assailants. What should he say? He couldn’t let the new patron think the Opera Ghost was soft, now, could he?

“My name is Erik Destler. I am a uh… a stagehand. And your name, Vicomte?” He placed the cane in his hand gently and held his free hand firmly, pulling him to his feet as the man grinned at him.

“Shouldn’t you already know?”

Erik shrugged, hoping the man could feel it rather than see it. “I would like to hear it from your own mouth.”

“I am Raoul de Chagny. The new Patron of the Opera Populaire. It is a pleasure to meet you, Erik.” He leant forward in a polite bow, lightly bumping his head into the Ghost’s chin and then chest due to their uncomfortably close proximity. Erik felt his face heat up again, releasing the Vicomte’s hand and taking a couple steps back.

“Ah, yes, uh, you as well, Vicomte.” His hands were shaking slightly. He’d never had such a pleasant meeting with someone since he first met Christine, and he hadn’t been called by his birth name in many years.

“Please, just call me Raoul. After all, we are friends now, aren’t we?” God, that damn smile just wasn’t fair. He was so unbelievably sweet, it was nearly impossible to hate him, which only frustrated him more.

“Oh, of course… Thank you for being so kind, Raoul, but I'm afraid I should get back to work. I'm sure you can take care of yourself while I’m gone?” Erik hastily turned to stare down the hallway where he could hear footsteps approaching them steadily. As he was turning to leave before he was seen, he felt a gentle hand grasp his wrist and had to look into the hazy yet pleading eyes of the Vicomte.

“Wait! Could I please see your face? I rarely ask so soon after meeting someone, but… I would like to know what you look like, so we can speak again, should I be accompanied by someone that can help me find you.”

“Oh, no Monsieur… I’m afraid mine isn’t a face you would like to see…” Erik was tense, casting quick glances towards the bend in the hall, shaking the hand off as he saw the shadows creep onto the wall. “I’m sorry, I really must be going!”

“Wait, Erik—!”

He felt Raoul’s fingers catch on the fabric of his cloak briefly as he rushed to the nearest hidden pathway, his wrist still warm where the Vicomte held it, his heart fluttering. He had never been able to truly talk to someone… to be treated as an equal. It was breathtaking, and he made a mental note to speak with the man again. Surely that was the only reason he felt so flustered around him…

* * *

Not long after the day the Phantom and the Vicomte met was Christine’s first performance— and Erik could _not_ let some stupidly sweet patron distract him from his goals. As such, he took a walk around the theatre to clear his mind once the Vicomte left. He needed to focus on Christine. Of course, it didn’t help that his mind kept wandering back to those pale blue eyes and golden hair, his charming smile, the way he treated him like a normal person for the first time in… well, in forever…

As he made his way towards Box 5, he was more attentive than usual, keeping his eyes open for the one person that didn’t immediately push him away due to his appearance.

Of course, while he was looking for the Vicomte, as he entered his box during Christine’s ballad, he nearly ran straight into the other man, stepping aside just quick enough for him to not knock Erik over, running off with only a small “pardon me” over his shoulder. Between the Phantom’s desire to see Christine succeed and his curiosity over the new patron’s behavior, eventually his curiosity won out, and he quietly followed the Vicomte as he sprinted down the staircase, following one of the valets to the dressing rooms. Why was he going to the dressing rooms?

He slipped into a hidden tunnel in order to avoid the other valets, rushing down the stairs and out into the hallway just behind them. He quietly shut the door and watched Raoul slip into Christine’s dressing room, feeling his way to her desk and asking the valet to help him write her a letter. Once the valet was finished, Raoul asked for a moment alone, and Erik cautiously watched the valet leave the room, mostly shutting the door before finally noticing the Ghost as he stepped out of the shadows and clamped a hand over the employee’s mouth, keeping him quiet long enough for him to bring his free hand up to his own mouth, gesturing for the man to keep quiet as he released his grip on him, whispering just quiet enough to be sure the Vicomte didn’t hear.

“What is Monsieur le Vicomte doing?”

“H— He wanted to meet with Mademoiselle Daae, Monsieur…!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know! They seem to be acquainted, I think?”

Erik squinted, observing his features and searching for any signs of fabrication, before ultimately deciding it wasn’t worth his time and he could ask Raoul himself if he really had to.

“Fine. Now leave, before I reconsider letting you live.”

“B— But the Vicomte—!”

“Trust me, I’m more than capable of getting him back to his box— and he hasn’t given me any reason to do otherwise. Now _leave_.”

The man practically ran from Erik, causing him to smirk in satisfaction. Sure, being respected and treated as an equal was nice, but being feared was _fun_. He leaned against the wall, flinching when the Vicomte suddenly swung the door open.

“What was that? I heard something.”

Erik cleared his throat, imitating the valets voice to the best of his ability.

“It was nothing, Monsieur, simply a chorus girl rushing to change into her next costume. Shall I escort you back to your box?”

“I suppose that would be a good idea…” He twisted his cane in his hands nervously, considering the idea. Erik couldn’t help but stare at his eyes as they shifted downward and the little pout he made when he thought. “Alright. Lead the way, I suppose.”

The Phantom was stupidly compelled to hold Raoul’s hand as he led him to the stairway he used to get downstairs unseen, but was mostly able to ignore his impulse.

“Um, aren’t the stairs that way?”

Erik turned to face the Vicomte quizzically, his thumb pointing towards the main staircase, and rolled his eyes, thankful the other man couldn’t see.

“Trust me, Vicomte, this way is faster. I only took the main staircase before because you were already heading that direction.”

The Ghost smirked, finally giving in to his desire to take the man’s hand and lead him up the narrow path, making sure to close the doors behind them. He only released his firm grip on Raoul’s hand once they reached Box 5, where he finally dropped the guise of the valet and turned to walk away a ways before turning around and speaking normally.

“Raoul? What are you doing here?”

“Erik?” The other man turned to him, his foggy blue eyes hiding behind a brilliant smile as he pushed a stray hair from his forehead. “I’m watch— well, I’m _listening_ to the opera. I am the patron, after all. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Oh, no— I only work the first act.” Erik smiled, proud of his quick lie. “I meant, what are you doing in _Box 5_?”

“What’s wrong with Box 5?”

“Haven’t they told you? That’s the Phantom’s box!”

“The Phantom’s—”

“Yes, the Phantom always requests Box 5 be kept empty for his use.”

“Wait, why does an Opera Ghost need a box to himself?”

“Why does a blind man need a box to himself? So he can watch— well, listen to— the opera without being bothered.” There was a beat of silence where it appeared Raoul was thinking, based on that annoyingly cute pout. “Any more questions?”

“… Will you join me?”

“W— What?”

“Will you join me?” He asked it more confidently, looking in his direction with a falsely innocent smile. “Since you don’t have to work the last act. I’m sure you could protect me if any ghosts were to appear.”

Erik’s face was in flames, and he was afraid the Vicomte would hear the pounding of his heart as he stuttered, searching for a response other than the ‘I’d love to’ that was threatening to slip through his teeth.

“I— I suppose I— I don’t see why not…” He cursed his weak behavior, and his voice for betraying him by showing the patron how nervous he was. However, Raoul didn’t look at him oddly or anything: he simply gave him that charming smile, his unseeing eyes boring into Erik’s soul as he fell into his seat, waiting for the Ghost to do the same.

“So, how did you lose your sight? If you don’t mind me asking, that is…”

“Well, I think it was from the time I almost drowned, a few years after I met Christine, as that’s when my eyesight first started to fade. It got worse when I went to the doctor for it…”

“What did he do?” Raoul shrugged nonchalantly.

“He just had me looking into candlelight so he could examine my eyes, but he didn’t see anything wrong with them until afterward.”

Erik thought in silence for a moment. “Perhaps it was the light and heat from the candle that ruined them.”

“But what would have caused it initially?”

“Perhaps a damage in the brain, since the eyes weren’t the problem? You almost drowned, right? It could have been that some part of the brain suffocated.”

He watched Raoul think, pout once again marring his face before he shrugged with a nod, smiling at Erik.

“I suppose that makes sense… How did you become so observant?”

“Part of my personality I suppose.” The Vicomte stifled a laugh, covering his mouth with one hand, his smile still showing at it’s corners. The Phantom allowed himself to smile, taking in the sight of someone so happy to be around him. It was an incredible feeling, to be wanted by someone.

He turned back to the stage to watch the chorus girls perform their ballet, trying to distract himself from the warm, fluttering feeling that had settled in his chest. He watched the girls float across the stage, but it didn’t stop the warmth spreading through his limbs and to his face as he kept stealing glances at the patron.

At one point he glanced over and he wasn’t there, and he heard a muffled and surprised shout from the man just behind him. He stood to run after him, worried his Vicomte was in danger— or maybe he had simply realized who he was talking to. Stalking into the hallway behind him, Erik’s heart felt as though it were about to jump out of his chest as he frantically called for the patron.

“Raoul?!” Looking in both directions, he saw one of the managers, Firmin if he remembered correctly, dragging Raoul away from Erik. Away from the Opera Ghost. Erik was frozen in place, watching the one man that had shown him genuine kindness as he was dragged away. Surely the manager would tell him who he was speaking to, or the Vicomte would figure it out on his own, but either way Erik was certain that he wouldn’t be speaking to him again.


	2. A Sweet Song

As Raoul left the opera house later that night after speaking with the manager and meeting with Christine, he swore he could hear music… it was the most heartfelt and saddening melody he’d ever heard, and every fiber of his being begged him to find the source. He obeyed, turning away from the exit and wandering through the halls, listening closely to the organ’s anguished wails, letting the music draw him towards it.

He first walked towards the stage, hoping the music was coming from someone doing some late practice. Upon reaching the stage, he was distracted by a feminine voice.

“What are you still doing here, Vicomte?”

“Madame Giry? Do you know where that music is coming from?”

There was a moment of silence, and Raoul thought for a moment that she wouldn’t answer him, or she would simply tell him to leave.

“What music, Monsieur?”

“The organ music. It’s such a beautifully sorrowful melody… I simply must meet with the player, they deserve to know how beautiful it is.”

“You must be mistaken, there are no organs in the opera house, and there is no music playing.”

Raoul glared in what he hoped was the right direction, trying to figure out what she could gain by lying to him. The music was certainly loud enough for her to hear, despite his improved hearing due to his impaired vision. He could hear the uncertainty in her voice, the way it shook when she spoke about the music.

“Why do you lie to me, Madame? Does this have something to do with the Phantom?”

He heard a near indiscernible gasp when he mentioned the ghost, and he smirked, proud to have figured out her lie.

“So it is the Opera Ghost, then? Thank God, I thought I’d never get an answer. Shall we visit him then?”

“Monsieur, the Phantom is—”

“He’s busy, I know, but I’ve never heard a piece so amazing! I simply must speak to him!”

“He’s dangerous!”

“I’m sure he is, but he must like to hear constructive criticism on his work, he’s an artist! And I do believe I owe him an apology, as I… I sat in his box earlier.” He decided to leave out the rest of the details on how he had been sitting with Erik and got dragged away by a manager, who was panicked about the masked figure beside him. He didn’t want to make any assumptions, but he was quite certain he’d already met the Phantom on two occasions.

“Can you please at least give him a message for me?”

“I…”

“Please? I just need to write him a letter, I promise.”

* * *

 

Madame Giry watched the man write feverishly, unable to make out any of the words as he leaned over the paper. She twisted her cane stressfully: this man had no idea what he was getting himself into. She had heard the commotion about the Phantom and the vicomte earlier, that Firmin was able to pull him away just as the Phantom was about to attack. The poor Vicomte was at a disastrous disadvantage as well, as he was unable to see the Ghost coming. This letter would likely do nothing but fan the flames— she had to keep it away from Erik at all costs. The Vicomte wouldn’t know he hadn’t gotten it, since there’s no way he could just  _ ask _ the Phantom if he’d gotten his letter.

She watched him fold it up and seal it in an envelope, signing his name on the front and addressing it to the Phantom, before sealing it with the wax from a nearby candle and a stamp of his ring. She took the letter once he was done, promising to bring it to Erik later and watching the Vicomte walk towards the exit.

When she was certain she was alone, she tore the wax from the paper and scanned the letter urgently. While she certainly expected something strange, she certainly wasn’t expecting what she found on that paper. She dropped the note in shock upon reading just the first two words…

 

_ Erik Destler, _

 

_ I’m truly sorry about the occurrences of this evening. I had never intended to leave you during the performance, but Firmin had to drag me away for some urgent business. Erik, I was told that you are the Phantom, and if that’s true— well, you would be reading this right now, for starters— but I’m not upset. I still want to be friends, if you’ll let me. I heard you playing the organ after tonight’s performance: would you let me listen up close sometime? I’ve never heard such a hauntingly gorgeous melody in my life, and, since my blinding, music has played a large role in it. If you can find the time, can we please meet tomorrow? I would like to speak with you in person. I’ll be bringing my brother, Phillipe, as he insists on escorting me everywhere when he’s not busy. I think you two would get along well, considering how kind you’ve been to me. I would like to introduce you to him and spend more time together. If you aren’t Erik, firstly I’d like to apologize for the confusion, but I still would like to compliment you on your musical skills, as I was told you were the one playing the organ I hear as I write. Did you compose the piece? I don’t recognize the melody, but I would certainly like to. I hope to hear from you again in the near future. _

 

_ I eagerly await our next encounter, _

_ Raoul De Chagny _

 

Of all the people that had met the Phantom, she had never met anyone that had gotten along with him: let alone anyone that knew his real name other than her. By the way he wrote, however, it seems he learned the name before the incident with Firmin. This can’t be good— Erik had to be planning something awful for the Vicomte if he had tricked him into believing they were friends. Why else would he have been seen attacking the Vicomte after this supposed friendship? She had to keep them apart.

* * *

 

Raoul turned to follow the music through the halls once he had left Madame Giry, certain she would be distracted by his letter, as he could hear the distrust in her voice. At this point he could either stand idly by and hope Erik gets his letter, or he can track him down and find him himself. Those thoughts are what led him to the dressing rooms once more, following the powerful refrains of the organ to what he recognized as Christine’s dressing room. He felt for the door handle, twisting it to only find it locked.

He groaned in exasperation, removing one of the pins holding his hair out of his face and fiddling with the lock. Philippe had taught him how to pick locks when they were younger, in case he were to get into trouble. It took him a few— okay, a  _ lot _ more than a few— tries to get the lock to give, as he hadn’t done it in a long time, but he eventually managed to force his way into the room, feeling his way through the gifts and flowers to the large mirror in the middle of the wall. Upon reaching the mirror, where the sound was loudest, he felt a strange draft swirling off of it’s left side. He reached towards it to find the mirror had been slid open, leading to a secret passage in the wall.

Hands shaking, he pushed his uncertainty aside and stepped into the passage, sliding the door shut behind him and pushing forward, hand trailing along the wall and cane feeling the ground in front of him cautiously. He was certain that any secret passage must have some form of traps, preventing unwanted visitors from finding their way through the winding path.

His legs were shaking, uncertain and afraid of the unknown. He was at a disadvantage, he knew, as he couldn’t see where he was going or who he was searching for, and he had no idea if he would be speaking to who he really wanted to find— but he was determined. Whoever he happened to find in the basement, friend or Phantom, he had a message to give them.

He walked along the wall, cautiously feeling his way down the path, for what felt like an hour or so until he was finally met with a voice: dark and mysterious, but familiar.

“What the hell are you doing here, Vicomte?”

He swallowed his pride, fighting back the name on his tongue— he wasn’t certain they were the same person yet. “Have I found the Phantom?”

“Answer my question and I will answer yours.”

“I am looking for the man that plays such sorrowful and incredible music, Monsieur. It was… beautiful.”

The man scoffed, and Raoul heard the shuffling of feet as the man stepped closer. He spoke more confidently than Erik, with the tone of someone that knew they were better than anyone else. Erik was kind and patient, having an undertone of the smooth confidence and superiority of the stranger, but a layer of humility and shyness keeping it stable. They certainly could be one and the same.

“And you think the Opera Ghost responsible for this?”

“I am not sure. I’m not sure of anything at the moment. Who is it that I speak to?”

“No one of importance.”

“Surely that can’t be true. If I hadn’t found you I would still be wandering these halls, lost in the dark.”

“What difference does that make?”

“Well, you’re important to me, Monsieur.”

“You don’t know me.”

“No, but I know that you must be here for a reason. You found me because fate has willed it, or because I have wandered into your path, or because you wanted to. Whatever the reason, it is important to someone, is it not? And since you’re the one that found me, you must then be important.”

The other man sighed in frustration, grabbing Raoul’s wrist— not quite gentle, but not roughly, rather, something between the two that made him wonder what the stranger thought of him— and leading him back up the stairs.

“Go home, Monsieur le Vicomte. The cellar is no place for a man like you.”

“Then who is it a place for?”

“… It is a place for monsters…”

Raoul frowned, catching the implicated  _ ‘like me’ _ at the end of the sentence.

“Do you think yourself a monster?”

“If you could see me you would understand.”

Raoul shook his head, sorrow gripping his heart.

“I don’t think I would. A person’s looks aren’t what make them a monster, it’s their actions. You are acting like a man, Monsieur. A person.”

The man fell silent, but the silence was dripping with sadness.

“I may be a man, but I am not a good man…”

“No one is a truly good man, but a man trying to right what was made wrong. I don’t know what you’ve been through, or what you’ve done to cause yourself so much regret— but I can tell you regret it. You feel bad for your mistakes. A monster wouldn’t feel that way. A  _ bad man _ wouldn’t feel that way. To truly be a better man, you just have to do what you can to right your wrongs.”

The man fell silent, only tightening his grip on Raoul’s wrist slightly as he continued to lead him back the way he came.

“May I have a name to call you?”

“I have many names. Ghost, Phantom, Murderer, Monster… Take your pick.”

“What would you prefer to be called?”

“… Phantom.”

Raoul nodded, repeating the name back to him. “Phantom…”

Phantom stopped, stepping aside and pushing the mirror open again, putting a hand on Raoul’s back and pushing him through.

“While this has certainly been an… interesting visit, I’m afraid this is where we must part. Thank you for coming, and please, don’t come back.”

“Wait! Are you—” He couldn’t finish his question, as the secret door was quickly shut and locked, and the footsteps behind it faded back into the cellar, leaving Raoul alone with his thoughts. Damn, he was hoping he’d get some answers… But perhaps that could wait until tomorrow, as it was likely nearing one in the morning.

Raoul stifled a yawn as he made his way back to the exit, only hoping that he and Philippe could get in touch with Erik the next day as he hopped into his carriage and rode home, a powerful and haunting melody swirling in his mind as he drifted to sleep that night.


	3. A New Face

The next time the Vicomte entered the Opera Populaire, he was followed in by another man— a bodyguard, Erik thought, to protect him from the Phantom, or perhaps from Erik. He was slightly taller than Raoul, maybe just an inch or so taller than Erik himself, and had darker, more brown hair that hung loosely around his shoulders. His eyes were a clear ocean blue, deep and mystical, and Erik could imagine Raoul’s would be similar: a lighter shade perhaps, but just as captivating and bright.

Erik followed them as they walked from room to room, idly wondering if they were looking for him, as Raoul had the man describe each room to him with his eyes gently shut and a whimsical smile in place. Erik would always stop and take in that expression, a small, sad smile on his lips as he thought about Raoul making that face in response to him. His voice, his music, his singing… Erik felt his heart flood with longing, pulling him towards the other man as if tugged by an invisible string. He wanted to be able to make him smile that way, but he couldn’t figure out why.

In each room Raoul would ask if there was anyone else there, and he would ask for descriptions. He was definitely looking for Erik, but he didn’t seem angry. He seemed… sad. He was disappointed when the person was described as a girl or was shorter than him. When the taller man described people, Raoul had that focused pout on his face, his eyes trained on the floor in front of him in thought, as if searching for something. He didn’t have a lot to go off of as far as looks, so when he found someone that met his criteria, he would ask to hear their voice. When he heard someone else, he would shake his head with a sad smile and an apology, moving on to the next room to do it again.

When they entered another empty room, Erik decided to do something rather than hiding in the shadows forever, hastily scribbling a note on a spare sheet of paper and tossing it down to them, watching the taller of the two pick it up with a confused remark.

“What’s this?”

“Is something wrong, Philippe?”

“A note just… fell from the ceiling.” Philippe stared upward, looking almost right at Erik, who froze, praying that the darkness was enough to hide him.

“Will you read it to me?” Philippe nodded, turning his attention to the paper.

“It says… ‘Vicomte, why do you look for me? Have you realized your…’ mistake? What mistake?”

“Keep  _ reading _ , brother.” The older man rolled his eyes and shook his head, continuing to read the letter.

“‘Have you realized that you’ve befriended a monster, that you must now destroy? Or are you simply stupid enough to seek kinship in a beast after learning of it’s true nature? I eagerly await your response… signed O.G…’” Philippe turned to his brother with a confused and concerned frown, a slight pout, much like Raoul’s, present in his expression. “Raoul, what is this about?”

Raoul was shaking his head, a hand covering his mouth in dismay. He quickly wiped his eyes dry before he spoke, shakily, upwards.

“Erik, or… Phantom? You aren’t a monster… Please, come out from hiding. I only want to talk.” Philippe stared at his brother, eyes wide in worry. He obviously had no idea who his brother was trying to talk to.

“… Why do you care?” Erik watched the taller man flinch at the hostile and unexpected response, twisting in different directions in an attempt to find the source of the voice. Raoul startled, but calmly turned towards him.

“You’ve given me no reason not to. Erik, you’ve been nothing but kind to me since we met…”

“Because you…” he stopped himself, turning so he didn’t have to see the other man’s innocent and all too trusting expression. “Your  _ blind _ . You’re the only person that I’ve ever met that physically couldn’t judge me based on the way I look, I didn’t want to lose that, I— I’d never been treated as a normal person before…”

Raoul released a sad sigh, his head dropping to his chest. “Can you please just come down here and talk to me?”

Erik sighed, defeated, before he responded. “Can we go somewhere more private? Where we won’t be bothered?”

Raoul nodded in response before adding a quick comment.

“You’ll have to lead us, we don’t quite know our way around yet.”

* * *

 

Once they had finally reached Box 5, Erik decided to finally step out of the shadows, revealing himself to the taller of the two, who let out a yelp of surprise that was silenced by Raoul’s hand on his shoulder.

“Erik, I know you’re upset, but I’m not mad. Was… was what they said true? That you’re the Phantom?”

“Would you still talk to me if I was? Would you still treat me as if I were anyone else?”

“I don’t  _ see _ why I wouldn’t.” Erik glanced up at Raoul’s small smile, letting out a small laugh himself and shaking his head. 

Philippe had been staring at the man’s mask, going over all of the rumors he’d heard and all of the possible scenarios. He knew the man in front of them had killed in the past, but Raoul seemed to trust him so much… He hadn’t seen his brother act this way since before his accident. He was usually so cautious and reserved. He sighed, giving Raoul a gentle nudge towards the Ghost, silently signalling his trust. If Raoul trusted him, he’d trust him too. Erik noticed this, staring at the older Chagny in surprised silence. Why would you trust someone that was known for being a monster?

Raoul started to walk towards Erik, who took a hesitant step back, the Vicomte’s hand brushing against his sleeve. Looking at the blond’s face, his heart ached at the look of disappointment he had caused, but he couldn’t allow him to get too close, lest he feel the darkness radiating from his soul. He didn’t want to let Raoul know about the way he felt, but without even thinking the words slipped off his tongue.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want you to hate me…”

“Why would I hate you? Erik, you helped me when I was in trouble—”

“I was planning on fighting you myself, actually…”

“But you didn’t! You helped me up and gave me back my cane! You sat down with me and talked to me—”

“Because I wanted to feel wanted! I’m just selfish and— and a monster!” Erik was crying by the time he finished his sentence, tears pooling up under his mask.

Raoul shook his head sadly. “It isn’t selfish to want affection. It’s human.”

The box fell silent, the only sound being the noise from the stage filtering into the small space. Raoul reached up to settle his hand on the other’s face, wiping the tear off of Erik’s cheek accidentally in the process, smiling that damn smile when the Phantom looked back down at him in surprise.

“You never answered my question, you know. Are you the man I spoke to in the basement last night?”

Erik took a deep breath, holding the hand still lingering on his cheek gently.

“Yes. How did you find out?”

“I guessed. Did you ever get my letter?”

“Letter? What letter?”

Raoul rolled his eyes with an indignant huff. “ _ Madame Giry. _ I entrusted her to deliver it for me, but I can see she has betrayed my trust. I had expected as much, which is why I chose to visit you.”

“You wrote me a letter?”

Raoul nodded, bright smile back in place. “Yes, but I think I’ve said all that was on it by now, between last night and today…”

Philippe cleared his throat awkwardly. The two were acting like a couple, and it was incredibly awkward just listening to their conversation from the side.

“So, are you going to keep standing there, or are you planning on introducing me to your friend?”

“Oh! Sorry, Philippe, this is Erik Destler, the man I told you about last night. Erik, this is my brother, Philippe, the Comte de Chagny. He insists on accompanying me wherever I go whenever he can.”

“Hey, if it weren’t for me you’d have no idea what anything looked like anymore!” Raoul heard Philippe walk towards them, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and shaking Erik’s hand. “Although I suppose you can replace me now, can’t you? Unless your new friend is too busy haunting the opera house to follow you around all of the time?”

Erik stared at the other man, unsure whether he should hit him or laugh, and settled with simply fixing a confused glare on him.

“Was that an insult?”

“It means he likes you.” Raoul breathed out, rolling his eyes at his brother’s comment. “You get used to it eventually…”

* * *

 

Madame Giry had watched the Vicomte carefully as he wandered through the opera house, undoubtedly looking for the Phantom as his brother described the rooms and the people in them. She felt her heart stop when the letter fluttered down, the older Chagny picking it up and reading it with blatant concern. She could barely restrain herself from running out of her hiding spot when Raoul called out to the Ghost, listening closely to their short conversation before following them to Box Five. She had no idea how she should go about stopping the two from speaking with Erik, but so long as the Vicomte wasn’t alone or in obvious danger, she was willing to stand to the side and observe.

Then Erik walked into the box, visibly startling the Comte, and Raoul regarded him with sorrow. They spoke, exchanging words back and forth, and Madame Giry caught the glint of a tear as it fell from behind the Phantom’s mask. She couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing as Raoul stepped forward and caressed Erik’s uncovered cheek. She watched with concern as the Comte introduced himself to Erik, and anxiety twisted in her chest at the Vicomte’s next words.

“Erik, would you please let me see your face?”

“Well, you’re already touching it…”

“I mean all of it.”

“I— Raoul, I don’t—” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I wear the mask for good reason. You wouldn’t want to touch it if you knew what it looked like.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it’s happened before!” Erik shouted, causing the Vicomte to recoil at the sudden outburst.

“But I’m not them. Erik, I promise you I won’t treat you any different, and if I do… Then you can…“ He paused, thinking for a moment of how to bargain for it. “I’ll let you tell me what you want from me. I’ll meet any demand. I just want you to know I’ll still care about you, no matter what… Erik, you were so kind to me when we first met, and nothing can destroy that impression of you.”

The Phantom considered for a moment, and Madame Giry bit her lip, restraining herself from stopping the Vicomte as he stepped forward, hands resting on Erik’s shoulders before he sighed in defeat.

“Alright… but you two must promise to tell no one what you saw.” He glared at Philippe, who mimed locking his lips shut.

“Of course.” The Vicomte nodded.

She watched anxiously as Raoul felt his way to Erik’s face, slowly and gently removing the mask and setting it aside on one of the seats. Philippe’s eyes widened and he covered his mouth with one hand when he saw the Phantom’s face, and Raoul’s eyebrows drew together as he felt the deformed skin, imagining what it looked like.

Erik stood in silence, his cheeks turning red as he let the Vicomte feel his face. After a while the blond smiled happily, placing a gentle kiss on the taller man’s deformed cheek.

“I still think you’re beautiful, Erik. I don’t think anything will ever be able to change that.”

A tear slid down the Ghost’s cheek as he wrapped his arms around the shorter man, pulling him into a tight embrace with a shaky smile on his lips, a few choked sobs dotting his relieved breaths.

“Good God, I’ve always wanted to hear that…” He laughed quietly as he wiped the tears from his face. “Thank you, Raoul…”

Madame Giry sighed in relief. So the Vicomte was right about him… He’d certainly changed— perhaps for the better. She finally pulled herself away from the wall and began to walk back to the stage. Erik was finally in good hands.

* * *

 

Philippe finally shook himself out of his shocked motionlessness, stepping towards his brother and grabbing his shoulder.

“Do you want me to describe him to you? Or do you just wanna cradle his face all day?”

Raoul laughed, tugging a smile onto Erik’s blushing face as he pulled his hands away.

“Only if Erik’s ok with it.” The sentence was more of a question than a statement, and Erik looked towards Philippe with a slow, slightly uncomfortable nod.

“So long as he’s reasonable about it.” He fixed a glare at the elder brother, who smirked in response.

“I make no promises. You’re practically my brother now and I make jokes to show affection. He has black hair, slicked back with what is likely an unholy amount of gel, really light blue eyes…” He stepped forward, tilting Erik’s face up to look at him better. “No, one blue eye, on his left side. His right eye is… hazel? Kind of a yellowish color. The right side of his face is extremely thin, and the skin looks kind of… stretched… like someone tried to put it on even though they didn’t have enough to cover the whole face. In a few areas on the forehead and near the eye it looks almost burned. He looks a bit like a skull. The other side is normal, but with a sharp cheekbone and jawline. He looks quite attractive, I’d say. He is wearing a white button-up with a black bowtie and vest overtop, as well as a black cloak, black slacks, and black oxfords.”

Erik tilted his head a bit as he listened, considering what the Comte had said. That was… not what he expected to hear. He looks… attractive? Since when? When he looked back at Raoul he was smiling, unseeing eyes fixed on his face, with a light blush smattering his cheeks.

“You sound even more beautiful than I’d imagined. I’ve never heard of a man with a yellow eye before… I only wish I could see you for myself.”

Erik’s face began to heat up again, spurring a laugh from the older Chagny. “I forgot the best part! He blushes with almost the same shade of bright red as a ripe apple!”

Erik glared at Philippe, face growing ever hotter as the Vicomte held back a laugh of his own, covering his mouth and reaching for Erik’s arm.

“That’s quite enough teasing, Philippe. Erik, you live beneath the Opera Populaire, do you not?”

Erik looked down sheepishly, reaching for his mask. “Well, yes… I can’t exactly find anywhere better to live. People tend to run away screaming when they see a man with a deformity or mask like mine.”

“Would you like to live in our estate? There’s plenty of room.”

Erik sputtered, quickly pressing the mask to his face to hide his shocked blush.

“I— I— Are you sure? I mean— Well, no one’s ever asked—”

Raoul flashed him that blinding smile, reaching up to place his hand on his mask.

“Philippe and I will be here tonight to see the opera. Use the time we’re gone to think it over, alright?” He pulled Erik’s face down a little, standing on his toes to plant a gentle kiss on his left cheek before grabbing his cane and leading Philippe to the door, as Erik stood, glued in his spot, cradling his cheek with his face aglow, a warmth spreading through his limbs and a smile creeping onto his face.


	4. Epilogue

Erik spent the rest of that day packing what belongings he would need with a dreamy smile plastered on his lips. He considered the life he would be leaving behind. Talking with Christine and Madame Giry, terrorizing the managers and Prima Donna, Listening to the chorus girls and stagehands as they either poked fun at him or spoke of him in terrified whispers.

Thinking about leaving everything he knew frightened him, sure, but thinking about the life he could have with the Chagny brothers gave him hope that he could someday live a normal life. That some day he could live in the sun, laughing and living a happy life with his future wife— or… maybe his future husband. He shook the thought from his head, making his way out of the cellar with a small smile.

He had a final talk with Christine that night, telling her he had to leave as his job there was done, and advising her to do the same, as they would likely mistreat her there without his influence. He gave her his blessing before turning to make his way quickly to the main entrance, where his future was waiting for him.

The moment he stepped out of the Opera Populaire it felt as if he were walking into a new life, the shackles of his old one finally slipping off as he breathed in the crisp night air. He was walking into a life without the drama and stress of trying to keep a failing opera house alive. If those imbeciles that bought the theatre really wanted to run that place into the ground, he was, for once, entirely content to let them. It was no concern of his anymore.

That night seemed so long ago now, but even with the wearing of time he never grew to regret his decision. The Opera Populaire had continued on without him, and so did Christine. Her name pops up in the papers now, critics praising or degrading her performance the night before. Erik simply smiles and relays the news to Raoul, beaming with pride. He learned a short while after he and Raoul began living together that the two had known each other as children, which was why the Vicomte wanted to meet with her the night they watched the opera together. He ended up almost missing that meeting in exchange for the one with Erik in the cellars, instead choosing to keep it to a short greeting directly after the performance. He made up for it much later, but at that point he and Christine had both decided to keep their relationship to friendship and nothing more— much to Erik’s delight, as he was given the opportunity Christine missed with the Vicomte.

Raoul started their relationship with that first kiss, sure, but Erik was the one to take it further. Of course, to love another man is frowned upon by society, but he was never one for society anyways. No one had to know about them other than the maids and butlers in the house— as well as Philippe, of course. He started leaving roses on the blond’s bedside table, where he would usually lay his hand to push himself up. He made certain they had no thorns and neatly tied a black ribbon on them. The first day Raoul approached him to ask about it, and Erik’s only reply was a quick kiss on the nose and a hand messing up his hair. Soon this became a regular occurrence, Raoul only bringing them up for the gentle affection, until one day Erik aimed a little lower, his lips meeting Raoul’s, and handed him five more roses, mumbling a soft confession after laughing a little at the Vicomte’s shocked expression.

“I think I’m in love, Raoul…”

Raoul smiled, taking two roses out of the bunch and pushing them into Erik’s chest.

“Me too. Would you like to discuss this over dinner? I can have the chef make something nice.”

The roses were all stored in a glass vase sitting in the center of the table on that night, between the candles providing their light, with forty roses altogether.

Through the past five years they’ve only gotten closer, going to Christine’s shows whenever she was nearby, and both patroning the Théâtre de la Gaîté, as neither could stand having to listen to the managers of the Opera Populaire anymore. Erik had been making a steady income by writing and selling his music and operas, and it’s during his newest opera starring Christine,  _ Don Juan _ , that he hopes to propose tonight.

He adjusts his tie and straightens his mask, taking a deep breath as he slides the ring onto the black ribbon and ties it onto the white rose: one of thirty six, the rest waiting, hidden in their box. He takes a moment to rehearse the proposal in his head, lined up perfectly with the melody at the end of the the final number— he should know, he’d checked 15 times.

He checks that he has everything in order once more before walking out of his room to where Philippe is standing, waiting for his brother to finish getting dressed. He had insisted that he be there when Erik proposed, as he didn’t want to miss Raoul’s reaction.

“Are you ready?”

“I— I think so.”

“Nervous?”

“Hell yes.”

Philippe laughs, wrapping an arm around Erik’s shoulders.

“Don’t be! He’s going to love it!”

“Oh, I know  _ that _ . I’m worried about going out in public. And proposing to another man. At the end of an Opera. In a room filled with people I don’t know.” Erik deadpans, idly fiddling with the buttons on his jacket as he stares at the door his love is meant to exit.

“Well I can make sure things go smoothly. Guard the entrance to the box, stand in between Raoul and the crowd so they think he’s a woman. It’ll be fine!”

Erik rolls his eyes, a small smile on his lips. “Why am I not relieved?”

The comment earns him a light punch on the arm, which he ignores in favor of smiling at the washroom door as it opens, Raoul running a towel through his damp hair. He looks gorgeous, wearing a powder blue undershirt beneath his dark waistcoat with two trailing tails, the color of the night sky: not quite black, but almost a dark shade of purple or navy blue, perhaps something between the two. The lavender tie tucked under the collar shines in the candlelight, and the shimmering of the light in his pale eyes and golden hair, sticking to his face in damp strands, makes him look almost ethereal.

“Raoul, you look absolutely breathtaking.” Erik breathes, rushing to his side to briefly bring the Vicomte’s hand to his lips. His face lights up in a smile as he follows the path of his hand to look Erik in the eyes.

“And I’m sure you look stunning as well, mon  très cher. Are we ready to go?”

“One moment.” Erik smiles as he takes the rose out of his pocket, tucking it into Raoul’s instead. “There. It looks much better on you.”

“Well, I highly doubt that, but thank you.” Raoul stood on the tip of his shoes, planting a sloppy yet gentle kiss on the nose of Erik's mask before grabbing his cane and heading towards the door.

“You ready, Erik?” Philippe yells, a small smirk playing at his lips. Erik rolls his eyes, walking toward the door as well and claiming the Vicomte’s hand.

“Of course I am. Are you?” The question came out a lot sassier than intended, but Philippe simply laughs playfully, hooking his arm with Raoul’s free one as they depart.

“Of course! I can’t wait to see this new production of yours. It sounds like quite the performance!” Philippe winks slyly at Erik, and Erik sticks out his tongue in response, earning him an amused snort.

“What the hell are you two doing? Don’t think I can’t tell you’re up to something by the tones of your voices.”

Raoul is staring forward testily with that adorable pout, unhappy with the fact he’s being left out of something. Erik smiles kindly, giving Raoul’s hand a comforting squeeze.

“You’ll understand in time, love.” He whispers with a quick and cautious kiss to his soon-to-be-fiance’s forehead. “I promise.”

Raoul sighs in frustration, but nods and doesn’t push the subject further.

Once they reach the opera house and get to their box, Erik and Raoul sit side-by-side, never releasing their grip on the other’s hand. Philippe sits on Raoul’s left, settling into his seat easily. Erik is… not so lucky. He fidgets anxiously with his mask, his tie, Raoul’s hand — whatever he can get his hands on. Raoul picks up on this, and breaks the silence during the intermission.

“Erik, are you alright? You’ve been fiddling with my ring for the past hour.”

“Oh— I, um, sorry. Just… a bit anxious about how the opera will be received by the public.” Not bad. His voice is shaking pretty bad, but it’s mostly the nerves and not the lie, so hopefully Raoul won’t notice.

“Really? You’ve never been this worried before.”

“Well I’ve been working on this for a long time. Since before we  _ met _ .” Okay, maybe he’s not lying. He is actually pretty nervous about the opera doing well.

“Trust me, it will do fantastic. You’re a genius, mon cheri.” He presses a soft kiss to Erik’s shaky hand, giving him a gorgeous smile that works quickly to calm his nerves.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right…” Erik turns away, deep blush and small, nervous smile mottling his features.

Erik feels much calmer for most of the second act— that is, until they get to “ _ Past the Point of No Return. _ ” Then the shaking and fidgeting comes back and he starts to constantly check the roses beneath his seat, as well as constantly glancing at the rose in Raoul’s pocket, worrying if the ring is still attached.

As the song reaches it’s end, Erik releases his grip on Raoul’s hand and reaches for the bouquet, getting on one knee and clearing his throat. Raoul looks in his direction, confused, as Philippe guides him to his feet, pushing him gently towards Erik. Raoul looks at him confused as well. Erik takes a few deep breaths as the orchestra plays, waiting for his queue. Right… now.

“Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime… lead me save me from my solitude. Say you want me with you here, beside you… anywhere you go let me go too… my love, that’s all I ask of you…” His entire body is shaking as he looks up at Raoul expectantly, watching as realization dawns on his face and a tear slides down his cheek, a hand flying to his mouth as Philippe positions himself between Raoul and the crowd.

“Feel the ribbon, Raoul.”

Raoul’s hands trace the rose, fingers grasping the fabric tied around it and feeling their way to the ring in it’s center. He unties the ribbon, taking the ring in his hands and examining it as Erik tries desperately to remember how to breath.

“If I shall be saved... it will be because our love redeems me…” Raoul smiles as another tear slides down his cheek. “Erik, this is… it’s beautiful!”

“You can’t see it.”

“I don’t have to. Erik, it’s beautiful because of the  _ meaning _ behind it, not the way it looks— although I’m sure it’s beautiful in that way too.”

“And… your answer?” If Raoul could see Erik, he would be greeted by the most hopeful, pleading look he’d ever seen. As it is, though, only Philippe can see the heartbreaking emotion on his face.

“Of _ course  _ I’ll marry you! Erik, yes!” Raoul practically falls into Erik’s arms, only noticing the roses in his hands when he lands mostly on a pile of flowers, bursting into laughter once the realization hits.

“Do we really need more roses?” He mutters between fits of giggles.

“Well, these ones are white, so…” Erik is blushing, his face almost as red as the flowers he usually gets, as a relieved tear slips out from under his mask.

“How many  _ are _ there?”

“Thirty six, including the one in your hand… Is this all too much?”

Raoul shakes his head, still laughing.

“It’s perfect. I think I’ll put them on my desk.” He grabs the bouquet gingerly, gently tucking the flower that previously held the ring in with the rest.

“Shall we go home, then, baby brother and future brother in law?”

Erik suppresses a laugh, nodding and helping the blonde get up before the three of them head home, where Erik finally feels like he truly belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! It's so cheesy but I mean... It's so cute.


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